The wight and the mercenary
by Lirulin-yirth-k'aio
Summary: Mirach's story that she kindly permitted me to submit as itsuits more here, to the other stories of the same altered universe as in my other fics see them to understand more . I am grateful to her that my AU and the game based on it made her write it.


**The wight and the mercenary**

_by Mirach_

**Disclaimer**: Something we own, something not, we'll let yourself separate it?

**Publisher's note:** the author asked me to remind you that it's very AU. So it is!

***

The wight and mercenary fought side by side. By now, Kaldir knew Daenar's movements in fight like his own, and for the wight it was the same – he anticipated every thrust of Kaldir's sword and adjusted his own moves and spells to it. And they needed all of their skills now, fighting against the unending crowds of enemies swarming at them. The elven village below the pass would stand no chance against them – there were dragons and undead, orcs, trolls and spiders – it seemed all the foul creatures living in the Mountains of Shadow came to take revenge after Leene's death, and their goal was the kingdom of Elrond's sons, and a defenseless village at the foot of the mountains.

The pile of dead enemies at their feet was growing, and Kaldir lost track of how long they were fighting already. He noticed that the magical lights enveloping them were growing weaker, and realized that Daenar is running out of spells. His own arms ached from the effort of lifting the sword – and still they were coming, even stronger then at the beginning: they were getting to the main force, not the easily sacrificed front rows, Kaldir thought wryly when his sword cut through the hide of a mountain troll. He glanced at Daenar quickly. The wight reached for his own sword and used his claws as a deadly weapon too.

Kaldir didn't see the spear coming till the moment when it was already too late to avoid it, too late to do anything. It was black and barbed like a Southerners spear... but the Southrons used to decorate their spears with feathers... not flames. It was magical – that explained why it appeared all of sudden – Kaldir saw it in the very last moment, when he could do nothing, just await the impact...

A moment of disorientation. An impact. Two of them... and none brought the piercing pain and burning that he awaited. They were dull, and when he orientated himself, he was lying on the ground. Something knocked him down... With horror he realized the truth when he saw Daenar's face above him. The vampire was covering him with his own body, the wicked spear protruding from his chest. Pain was in his eyes, but his pale lips curled into a slight encouraging smile. Then he disappeared, and only glistening ashes were blown away with the wind. Kaldir's heart seized – like always when he saw his companion being disembodied... to save his own life.

He was still shaken, but he had no time to spare on thoughts, if he didn't want Daenar's sacrifice to come in vain. He rolled over to avoid the orc blade falling on him, and leaped to his feet with the sword in his hand, parrying two other blades in the movement. Without Daenar, he was hardly pressed to keep his position in the mountain pass. They were coming, a wave after wave, and still he didn't see the thrower of the spear... He was exhausted, and ever more often he failed to parry a blow completely. They were minor wounds, but they were weakening him...

He would follow Daenar to the Other Side long ago, to the place that he learned to think about as their refuge, where they could rest safely and heal their wounds if the fight was too difficult, and the wight has been disembodied, usually taking a deadly blow or spell meant for Kaldir. Kaldir didn't count anymore how many times Daenar has saved his life thus... but still it hurt. But this time, he could not follow him. He had to stay and fight to keep the pass, and prevent the monsters to swarm Ithilien. There was a village below the pass... Kaldir gritted his teeth and fought, despite the fatigue and pain from numerous wounds. He could not let them pass. There were only few now, just a little while longer...

The spear. Again it came from nowhere, burning with deadly flame, and he had no time to avoid it. In the last moment he wanted to duck to the ground, but he managed to move only a few inches before the impact came. Sharp, searing pain and devouring fire blazed in his shoulder. His vision darkened, and only vaguely he realized that he fell to his knees, and the sword slipped from his hand. His mind screamed at him to stand up and continue fighting... the part of it that was not screaming in pain, at least. Distantly he wondered why the orcs and spiders didn't swarm him yet to finish him... but then his vision cleared a bit, and he saw the few remaining monsters to step to the side, to make way for someone... the spear thrower...

He looked up, and saw a woman approaching. She was tall and slender... beautiful, but it was cruel, dangerous beauty. Her skin was greyish, and the silvery cobwebs covered only some parts of her body. She looked at him dispassionately with eight pupils – four in each eye. And in her hand, she was clutching another spear... She approached slowly, looking at him like a spider looks at a fly caught in her net. He shivered under the look, or in pain, it was hard to tell... He averted his eyes, and his hand searched for the sword where he dropped it, panting through clenched teeth. She was nearing, and the spear in her hands blazed in flames, that seemed to not hurt her... but they hurt him, like white-hot iron in his wound. He thought shortly about tearing out the barbed spear... but he knew he would faint – even so he was dangerously close to it...

Finally his fingers found the handle of his sword, and clutched around it. Shakily he stood up, although every movement caused him more pain as the spear shifted. The woman's eyebrows flew up in surprise – or amusement. "The fly has a sting..." she hissed with a dangerous smile. Kaldir didn't spare his waning strength to answer. Cold sweat beaded on his brow, but he followed her movements carefully. She circled around him, toyed with him. He followed her with his sight, turning on his heels...

***

Daenar paced to and fro, and the snow crunched beneath his feet. Never before has it taken so long for Kaldir to come for him... Either he finished the enemy quickly, or returned for Daenar's help as soon as he could reach for the stone. But now... it has taken too long! "Where are you, Kaldir..." he muttered.

Melkor stood on his place and watched his son without motion. "If he would be near death, I would know..." he said finally.

Daenar stopped his pacing and turned sharply. "He could be badly injured... He could be unable to reach the stone! What if they have taken him captive and taken the stone from him?! What if... what if he encountered something from the Void..." He closed his eyes for a while. "It takes too long!"

Melkor looked at him, and sighed. "You fear he will not come for you..."

Daenar met his father's eyes with a long unreadable look, but then he dropped his head, and nodded shortly. He began pacing again.

***

Kaldir felt his head spinning, and the beating of his heart was like a dark tide, sending a new wave of pain through his body with every heartbeat. How long is she going to toy with him? Soon his question was answered. Unexpectedly she attacked, like a spider leaping at its prey. She made a lightning fast thrust with the spear against him.

His reflexes saved him. He brought his sword in an arch before him to ward off the spear. But the strength of the thrust surprised him, and his waning strength was not enough to fence it off completely, and in the next moment his side blazed in pain. The impact knocked him off his feet. She pinned him to the ground with the burning spear, and leaned over him, still holding its shaft, smiling cruelly. Then she ripped it off... Searing pain filled his entire world. No picture, no sound, no thought... He screamed. He curled in agony. He was burning and freezing... He did not know if it were moments or hours that passed...

His vision cleared a little. Eyes. Eight pupils looking straight into his eyes. Nearing. Binding him in their spell... The warmth of her lips nearing his. From somewhere in the corner of his mind, Daenar's voice came: _"The wight's kiss drains the soul __from __the__ victim__..."_ _No kisses with the ladies of the Void?_ he said then in jest, but Daenar was deadly serious. "_No, and don't __even speak about it_," he hissed... But now, through the haze of pain, he realized that this is what is just going to happen...

_No! _With all the strength of will he had he averted his eyes from her binding look, and he could move again... if he would have the strength to do so... He gathered its rests, and he realized he still has the sword in his hand; he didn't drop it with his fall. Her lips were almost touching his, and despite their warmth he felt cold... He thrust the sword up.

Her eyes widened in surprise. She staggered back, and a trickle of blood came from her mouth. And then she screamed, and the scream bit into his skull and threatened to split it, and the spear in his shoulder blazed with fire, burning and devouring. He felt warm blood flowing from his side... Suddenly the scream stopped, followed by silence. The darkness crept to the edges of his vision again and threatened to swallow him. He moaned quietly. There was something he had to do before it does... but he could not remember, could not think... He saw the remaining orcs and spiders, tightening their circle around him. Only a few were left, although their numbers oscillated as his vision blurred and their shapes were dancing before his eyes. It did not matter. Only one would be enough to finish him now...

He remembered. Daenar. The stone. He must get to him, to safety. He lay curled on his side as spasms of pain ran through his body, and the stain of blood under him was growing quickly. Somehow he found the strength to lift his hand a bit, and reach for the pouch at his belt. He fumbled with the knot with shaky fingers, and more by luck the anything it yielded and his fingers touched the smooth surface of the gem. The place where he wanted to go, and the face of Daenar, awaiting him there, was his last thought before everything blackened...

***

"Kaldir!" Daenar cried out as he felt the mercenary's presence again. But something was wrong...

"Kaldir..." he whispered in shock as the mists dissolved and he saw Kaldir's body, lying curled in pain, with a shaft of a spear protruding from his shoulder and bright blood staining the white snow... _Blood... So much blood..._ His eyes darkened, and he seemed like frozen to the place.

But then Kaldir moaned quietly. Daenar drew a shaky intake of breath, and the wild look disappeared from his eyes. He ran the few steps between them, and then sank to his knees at Kaldir's side, biting his lips in worry. Gently he turned the ranger to his back, to see his wounds, but hissed when he touched the spear. It was red-hot... Daenar's eyes darkened with rage on the one wielding that spear, but a hand on his shoulder brought him back.

"He is losing too much blood..." came Melkor's quiet voice, and Daenar returned immediately back to reality.

"You must heal the wound on his side immediately," Melkor said, and despite the calmness of his voice, urgency was in it. Daenar nodded, although he hated the idea of leaving the burning spear in Kaldir's shoulder. Kaldir's fingers were clutched on the wound, but a worrying amount of blood was flowing through them. Its smell assaulted Daenar again, but he paid no attention to it, and gently, but with some force he pried the blood-stained fingers away, and clutched Kaldir's hand in his own.

"Hold on..." he whispered, and peeled away the soaked and tattered layers of cloth to reveal the deep wound. He laid his other hand on it, and closed his eyes, concentrating. He gasped in pain and swayed slightly when he took the wound to himself. But Melkor's hand on his shoulder steadied him, and slowly the pain subsided as the quick regeneration of his body coped with the wound. He felt Kaldir's hand squeezing his slightly, almost imperceptibly, and he squeezed it back in encouragement.

Kaldir moaned, and his eyes opened slowly, filled with pain. "Dae...?" he whispered.

The vampire smiled sadly. "Yes, my friend..." He would prefer Kaldir unconscious through what he had to do, he hated the idea of causing him more pain, but it had to be done... "you are safe now. But... I'm going to remove the spear... It will hurt..." he said regretfully.

Kaldir nodded slightly, and gritted his teeth. Daenar turned to Melkor. "Hold him, please..." he said, and then clutched his hands around the shaft of the spear, although it burned them. The barbed head tore the flesh, as he pulled it out quickly, to spare Kaldir more suffering. Kaldir's back arched in agony as he screamed in pain, and then he went limp in Melkor's hands again. Daenar threw the spear away, and didn't even look at the deep burns on his hands, healing slowly. He looked shaken, but immediately he put his hands on the bleeding wound and sent his healing powers through them. He clutched his shoulder and gritted his teeth until the pain passed, and then he sighed exhaustedly.

***

After a while, Kaldir's eyes opened again. They were tired and sunken deep in their sockets, but free of pain this time, and he seemed to recognize Daenar, and smiled at him slightly. "Thank you..." he whispered.

Daenar smiled shortly too, but then he frowned. "Do not ever do this again," he snarled, but Kaldir knew him well enough to tell that he was more worried then angry. And indeed, the vampire's expression softened immediately. "How do you feel?" he asked.

Kaldir tried to sit up, but sank back. "Weak..." he said wryly. "And tired..." he looked at Daenar a bit confusedly; never before has he felt so bad _after_ the wight healed him.

„You have lost a lot of blood..." he heard Melkor's voice somewhere behind him. "And your body is still recovering from the shock. You need a good rest to feel better again."

Daenar nodded approvingly. Kaldir wanted to protest that the client is waiting, but he realized that he really wouldn't mind some rest right now. He sighed resignedly, and relaxed, but shivered slightly in the cold air.

Daenar noticed it. "Oh, I'm sorry! I forgot it's cold here for you! Let's go to somewhere warmer... with a proper bed!" he grinned. "I think Aine owes us, doesn't he?" he winked. Kaldir laughed and took out the stone from Aine, opening a portal to the temple. But when the wight wanted to carry him, he cast him a shocked look and tried to sit up again. "I'll not return otherwise then on my own feet!" he proclaimed, and Daenar rolled his eyes. He could hear Melkor's chuckle somewhere from behind. "Fine," he said, "but let me help you..."

Kaldir wanted to retort something, but then he seemed to reconsider it, and nodded. "Thank you..." he said, and he would blush, had he any blood to spare for that.

Daenar smiled and helped him to his feet, although he carried most of Kaldir's weight. Before they entered the portal, Daenar looked at Melkor. "I hope you clean the mess before our next visit," he said with a grin, pointing at the bloodstains on the white snow. But from the slight tension in his body Kaldir could feel that there is a real uneasiness hidden beneath his words.

Melkor laughed shortly and nodded. "What else are parents for then cleaning the mess of their children, you mean?... Alright, but I hope to not see you two here anytime soon!"

"We'll try..." said both Daenar and Kaldir at once, and with that, they disappeared in the portal.

***

When they walked from it in the temple of the Nine Wights, Kaldir was leaning on Daenar heavily, but _he walked on his__ own feet_, no matter how high Aine's eyebrows reached, and how insistent he was to know what happened. Kaldir was just too tired to explain anything, and Daenar headed straight to the rooms prepared for any of the ones worshipped in this temple, should they decide to come for a personal visit. There was only one big bed in the room, and he maneuvered Kaldir there. The ranger fell asleep immediately, and Daenar was looking at him and at the bed for a while. Then he shook his head, and, taking a glass of wine that was prepared here for such visits he seated himself in the soft chair beside the fireplace. His expression was thoughtful while he was sipping the wine slowly and looking at the sleeping ranger.


End file.
